Page 16 of Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers)

So when I wake up, after barely sleeping, to see his unshaven face peering down at me, it is all I can do not to scream.

“Whoa,” he says, grinning like the cat that got the motherfucking cream. “Bad dream?”

I sit up, pushing the sheets off me to discover I am completely naked, my tattoo angry and red and burning. Elliot warned me about this. But instead of trying to avoid thinking about the pain, I relish it. The burn helps me to remember why I am here.

It makes me remember how good it feels to be alive.

“Good morning,” I say, rubbing my eyes. I lean back, letting my breasts jut out in full view so that he can see them. “Oh Jesus,” he says, groaning loudly. I can see the bulge in his pants. The man is literally ready to go any time of the day.

“Wish I could stay, baby girl,” he says, handing me a mug of hot black coffee. “But I gotta go run a job with my boys.”

“That’s okay,” I say, arranging the sheets around myself. “I’ve got to go and get this tattoo finished, anyway.”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” he says. I almost choke on my coffee.

“P-pardon?” I ask, wiping coffee from my chin.

“Severe storm warning’s in place,” he says, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ve got about ten minutes before this motherfucking weather outside becomes damn near impossible to drive in. Lucky we weren’t planning to ride.”

“So, you want me to stay here?” I ask. “By myself?”

He drains his own coffee cup. “Nope. My son’s gonna be here. Jase. He’s staying behind with you.” He looks at me oddly for a moment, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Besides, little runt is the only one of the lot that I’d trust to take care of your fine ass.” He leans closer and smiles conspiratorially. “I’m eighty percent sure he’s gay. Don’t tell anyone, though. Little fucker’d be beaten to death by his brothers if anyone else knew.”

Jase. Fuck.

I just smile vacantly, my mind going a million miles an hour. I’m essentially trapped, without a phone or a way out. I memorized Elliot’s number, but that doesn’t actually matter if I haven’t got a way of calling him. And I don’t want to raise any suspicions by making a big deal of contacting him.

I just pray he doesn’t get impatient and report me missing. Especially since, technically, I’m already dead.

“Okay,” I say brightly. “Where are you going?”

Dornan chuckles as he pulls his leather cut on over his black t-shirt. My throat gets tight as I see the club colors adorning the black leather, the President badge unmissable. It is exactly like the jacket my father used to wear.

“It’s a surprise, babe. You’ll see soon enough.”

A surprise. I wonder what the fuck that could possibly be. I have to strain forcibly to stop my eyes from rolling violently back into my head.

“I like your jacket,” I say softly. “It looks comfy.”

He puffs his chest out and studies himself in the mirror next to the bed. “I got it when I became president of this club,” he says, and something inside of me dies a little. So it is my father’s jacket.

“Get dressed,” Dornan says, still preening himself in front of the mirror. I obey, swinging my legs out of the bed. I find my bag next to the bed and select a new outfit – dark denim jeans and a white halter top that exposes my cleavage nicely. I pull on the jeans and halter, then make my way into the adjoining bathroom to apply some more mascara and fix my bed hair.

Ten minutes later, I am being paraded around in front of the club members who are still at the club. We are downstairs in the main room, which features lots of low-back leather couches, a fully-stocked bar that we stand in front of, and a small stage at one end. There are no windows, which makes me itch. I know why. Windows mean people can see inside. Windows mean people can shoot bullets through.

I look around, scanning the dozen or so guys and girls hanging off Dornan’s every nauseating word. I guess most people have decided to return home after the storm warning was issued. I tune in to what Dornan is saying as he’s finishing up.

“Nobody is to touch her,” he finishes. “She’s mine. You hear?”

I smile vacantly as a few guys jostle and wolf-whistle and a few slutty-looking girls look seethingly jealous as they look me up and down.

Dornan snaps his fingers and grabs my arm. “Come on,” he says. “Time for me to go.” I trot after him like an obedient puppy, taking in every detail I can about the place.

Some things have changed, and some have stayed exactly the same. Dornan is still an asshole – that definitely hasn’t changed.

I follow him out of the main club room, down a narrow hallway that has several closed doors and which eventually opens up into a large kitchen, complete with several dining tables.

“Wait here,” he says, stabbing a table with his finger. I sit at the table and look up at him. “What am I waiting for?”

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